


His blood runs through my instrument

by pianoforeplay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-21
Updated: 2011-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianoforeplay/pseuds/pianoforeplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His blood runs through my instrument

**Author's Note:**

> Sam is around 15 in this. Title stolen from the Dan Fogelburg song, "Leader of the Band". Written for the schmoop_bingo prompt of 'playing instrument' and initially posted [here](http://pianoforeplay.livejournal.com/40926.html) on 11/07/2010.

Sam is fifteen when Dean finally caves to the sick thoughts in his head and lets Sam kiss him. It's been brewing for months. Maybe years, even. A twisted ache deep in his bones that has only gotten worse with every inch tacked onto Sam's lean frame. Dean has fought it as hard as he can, ignoring the heated looks his brother gives him when Dad isn't looking and shying away from his touches, both innocent and not-so-innocent.

Despite his best efforts, it's hopeless in the end. Early fall finds them in some tiny mountain town in Idaho that holds little more than a post office and fire station. Dad's gone for a week, out chasing some lead on a coven a hundred miles away, leaving Sam and Dean with no company but each other in a one room cabin.

Later, Dean will admit he'd seen it coming. Might even admit he hadn't put up nearly as much resistance as he could've. That he just let Sam corner him in the kitchen and slot their mouths and hips together and take everything Dean had been yearning to give.

They go from zero to sixty in the span of only a few short weeks, from kissing and grinding while fully clothed to licking and sucking and claiming with bare skin and sharp teeth. Even after Dad returns and packs them off for New Mexico, he and Sam don't stop. Can barely keep their hands off each other when they're left alone for longer than five minutes.

It's still a few more months before Dean lets his brother fuck him for the first time.

And, while it's not exactly the best sex of Dean's life, it's _Sam_. Sam's clumsy, nervous thrusts and sharp hips, his staggered and shattered moans. His come leaking down the inside of Dean's thighs afterward, sticky and gross and weirdly perfect. And they get better with practice, Sam slowly becoming more sure of himself, of how far he can push and how much Dean can take. They get to the point where they can read each other's heartbeats, know by only a blink what's too much or too little. Dean even finds himself believing that this thing between them, however twisted and sick it may be, is really only an extension of everything they've already been for each other their whole lives. Thinks maybe it isn't entirely wrong after all.

At least for awhile.

They're in Kentucky, about thirty miles west of Louisville, when Dad pulls Dean in on a hunt. It's not the first time Dad's asked for his help, but it's the first time Dean actually considers turning him down, however briefly.

"We'll be back in a few days, Sam," their father says as Dean throws their bags in the backseat. "Call if you need anything, alright?"

"I still don't see why I can't come with you."

"It's just a two-man deal, son. Dean and I'll take care of it, no need to get you involved. Just stay here and watch the house."

"It's not even ours," Sam replies, that familiar edge of anger seeping into his tone. It's become more and more prevalent over the past few months and Dean's starting to wonder how much of it is Sam just being a teenager and how much of it is more than that. "Or at least not legally. What am I supposed to do if someone shows up while you're gone?"

"Just stay here, Sam," Dad says, tone sharp, brooking no argument.

Dean doesn't miss the tic in Sam's jaw as he clenches his teeth, hands balled into fists at his sides. Doesn't miss the way Sam's eyes watch him the entire time he and Dad are pulling out of the drive.

As far as hunts go, it's one of the easier ones. A simple salt and burn that takes only three days and leaves both Dean and his father winded and sore, but with no major body parts missing. He expects Sam to be pleased at their return, or at least relieved.

What he doesn't expect is a note left in Sam's place.

  
_Dean-_

 _Over at Tara Harmon's house - 23345 W. Samson Pl. Back by 9 PM Tues._

 _\- Sam_

He doesn't know who Tara Harmon is. Dad doesn't either and appears mildly worried for a moment before he says, "We'll give him 'til 9:00. He doesn't show up by then, we'll go looking."

Sam's home by 8:30, boots clomping over the threshold and cheeks red from the cold as he peels off his coat.

"Hey, you're back," he says, and Dean warms at the smile he sees on Sam's face because it's exactly the one he'd been hoping for, happy and relieved and all for Dean. "How'd it go?"

Dean fills him in on the hunt, sharing all the gorier parts that make Sam's nose wrinkle while Dad makes dinner. Sam likes the little details that go into jobs, likes knowing where they found their research and how they made the kill, likes knowing the exacts for everything, just soaking it up like a sponge. He's going to make a great hunter, Dean knows sure as he knows a slice of pie can cure any sickness. He's looking forward to the day when it'll be all three of them out together all the time. One unbeatable team.

And then Dad says, "So who's Tara Harmon?" Sam's face goes red and Dean feels his stomach drop out.

Sam's answer reveals little. "A friend," he says, picking at the spoonful of tuna helper on his plate. "We're in biology together. She's been helping me out."

" _Biology_ , huh?" Dean says before he can stop himself. Out the corner of his eye, he can see Dad crack a smile, which means he's succeeded in making it come out teasing instead of jealous. Because he's _not_ jealous. That would be fucking ridiculous.

As expected, Sam's eyes narrow in a glare as he grumbles, "Shut up, Dean."

"You get in any anatomy yet? Can you name all the _parts_?"

"Shut _up_ , Dean."

"How 'bout human reproduction? I hear it helps to get some hands-on experience in that one."

"Alright, that's enough," Dad says then, voice firm though there's still a hint of humor in his tone. "Eat your dinner."

Dean glances over at him and then at Sam, brow furrowing at the expression painting his brother's face. He looks irritated, yes, but there's something else there, too. Something close to hurt in his eyes as opposed to the red hot anger Dean had been expecting. It doesn't make sense so Dean ignores it, gaze fixed on his food as the conversation falls into an awkward silence.

They sleep that night in their respective beds, though that has as much to do with Dad's presence as anything else. Dean refuses to dwell on it.

Things seem to return to normal the next day. They wake up early for training, suffering through the frigid cold together before taking turns in the shower back home. Later, Dean cooks up breakfast and drives Sam to school, Sam quiet the entire way, seemingly happy to stare out the window until they reach the lot.

"Hey, uh. Don't worry about me picking me up later, okay?" Sam says as Dean pulls up to the curb.

"Okay," Dean replies, knocking the car into park. "You got a ride?"

Sam doesn't answer right away, hesitating for a moment before shouldering the door open and stepping out. "I'm going over to Tara's after school," he says, bent over with his head still peaking in, keeping out only some of the cold. "Her mom'll drive me."

"Oh," Dean says, grip tightening briefly on the steering wheel. "Okay. Sure."

"Cool, thanks. Later, Dean."

The door squeaks and slams shut and Dean watches Sam head up the walk, head bent against the wind. He feels cold all over.

For the next two weeks, Sam spends nearly every afternoon over at Tara's. Dean teases him about it occasionally, every lame comment an admittedly poor attempt to assuage his own gnawing irritation. Sam desperately wants normalcy in his life, aches for it in a way Dean's never understood. Why have normal when you can spend your life hunting fucking monsters?

But he kind of gets it in a way. Sometimes he thinks normal might be nice. Boring, but nice. Then again, there's really nothing normal about fucking your brother.

So he can't really blame Sam. As much as it kills him, he _can't_.

But when Sam's school goes on winter break, Dad leaves town on another hunt, and Dean wakes up the day before Christmas Eve to Sam grinding against his hip and mouthing at his shoulder, he can't help the spike of both arousal and complete confusion.

"Sam?"

Sam answers with a soft groan, hips rocking forward as Dean goes tense all over, reaches down to grip Sam's sides tight.

"Dude. What the hell?"

"C'mon, Dean," Sam replies, practically writhing against him. "Please. Just let me, _please_."

Sam's nose brushes the skin below Dean's ear and his hand drops to Dean's stomach, fingers skimming over bare skin. And Dean can't fight it, barely even tries, his head falling back and eyes slipping shut as Sam's mouth works from his ear and down his jaw before finding his lips, tongue slipping between and licking deep. Sam's breath is ripe with sleep, but Dean doesn't care, just opens up to it and takes more, surrendering completely. The kiss is desperate. Hungry and heated. Dean brings his hands up to frame Sam's face, thumbs pressing into his cheeks as they lick and bite and moan together.

He has no idea which of them pulls back first, but it's Dean who speaks. "Girlfriend," he says, chest heaving as he blinks his eyes open.

Above him, Sam frowns. His lips are bruised red, skin shiny with sweat and he shakes his head. "What?"

"Tara," Dean says, ignoring the voice inside him telling him to shut the hell up. "You can't do this to her, Sam. It's not fair."

" _What?_ " Sam's eyes are wide, a thin ring of hazel around dark pupil, his brows practically meeting in the middle. "Dean, how many times do I have to tell you? She's not my girlfriend."

Dean hears the words, same as he has the past few times he's brought it up. They still don't make any sense.

"But. You see her every day."

"Yeah, but she's not-- wait, are you _jealous?_ "

"No!" Dean's answer is too quick and he knows it, face flushing a little as his lips tug into a deeper frown. "I just. What the hell's going on, man? You're _always_ over there. I hardly see you anymore. And don't tell me she's helping you study, geekboy; you could _teach_ half the classes you're taking."

Sam's face falls then, giving him away and Dean blinks, confusion mounting.

"You're shitting me. She really _is_ helping you out with biology?"

"Not biology," Sam says, lips twitching into a grimace. Before Dean can ask for clarification, Sam sighs and rolls off to rest shoulder to shoulder with Dean on the bed, looking straight up at the ceiling. "She's, uh... we have another class together, too. One I haven't told you about."

Dean can't quite keep the gruffness out of his tone when he says, "Sam?"

"I'm taking orchestra," Sam says, the words rushed like a confession. "I'm fifth chair violin and I didn't want... The school's letting me rent one for the year, but I can't bring it _home_ , you know? Not without Dad going apeshit. So Tara's been keeping it at her place and I've been going over lately to practice. She's awesome. First chair. And I really really suck, but with her help, I'm getting better, Dean. I might even move up to fourth chair when school starts back up."

Dean doesn't respond at all for a long moment, brain working overtime to absorb. Then:

"You're playing the _violin?_ Seriously?"

Sam huffs a breath beside him. "This is why I didn't just tell you. I knew you'd be an ass about it."

"You couldn't've picked something awesome? Trumpet, maybe? Drums?"

"I tested best on the violin."

"They _tested_ you?"

"Jesus, Dean, why do you _care_?"

"I'm just curious," Dean insists, not bothering to fight the growing grin on his face. He feels strangely giddy all of a sudden, infinitely lighter. "Hey, don't you guys do concerts and stuff?"

"Yeah, we've already had a couple."

"What? And you didn't tell me?"

Sam actually laughs then and Dean can't tell if it's in exasperation or genuine amusement. Maybe both. Either way, he likes it, the sound settling warm in his chest even before Sam turns onto his side to give Dean a shove.

Dean's happy to take it, his smile only widening as he reaches up to grab hold of Sam's bony shoulder and pull him closer. "Just when I think you can't possibly get any lamer..."

"Fuck you," Sam shoots back, but he's smiling as he says it, leaning down close to Dean's mouth.

Dean waggles his eyebrows in response and tips his head up to catch Sam's bottom lip between his teeth. Sam's tongue flicks out and Dean steals a taste of it, groans softly as Sam surges forward, covering Dean once more from hip to shoulder as it melts deeper. It's not at all like earlier, less urgent and more slow and sure. Dean feels every touch down to his toes, the want building and burning hotter with every passing second before he breaks away with a heavy exhale.

"Tell me next time," he says, his fingers trailing along the side of Sam's neck. "Tell me, okay? I wanna see you."

Sam looks confused for a second and then a smile breaks wide across his face, eyes shining as he nods. "Yeah, okay."

 **end.**


End file.
